Sunday, Blissful Sunday
by falsification
Summary: Oh, babe, haven't you heard? This starts and ends with Sunday. AU. Slight lemon, BEWARE.


**Okay, so down there is ten drabbles based on random songs on my computer. So like, listen to the songs listed while reading them, it makes in better, I swear. So, brief summary here;**

**#1- Takes place in the eighties, so everyone is dressed like neo-maxi-zoon-dweebies. **

**#2-Also in the eighties, you can tell by the gossamer and sugar smell. **

**#3- Modern times, and he like fixes her car or whatever but then- _oh,_ then…**

**#4- Just in a club, short and simple, but so sweet. **

**#5- VEGASFIC! I like this one. **

**#6- This one is a little unsatisfying. So what? You gunna sue me?**

**#7- Slight partial lemon. BEWARE.**

**#8- Like this one too. She's all- 'EVERYBODY PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEE.'**

**#9- Reminds me of my childhood. **

**#10- I kind of love this one.**

#1 Caught up in You: .38 Special

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon when she'd shown up at his apartment, wearing that devilish smirk that he thought profoundly saucy.

She was dressed in a pair of hand dyed, high-waisted short shorts and a cut-off t-shirt, donning a pair of old sneakers and tube socks, a look that only she could pull off.

Her pink hair was pulled back in a messy looking knot, a few light pink strands escaping; starkly contrasting with the highlighter-yellow triangle shaped earrings she was sporting. She was jabbering on excitedly about a summer festival she'd heard was going on that day in the north of the city, where her favorite band was playing.

She bounced on her heels when she asked him, "So, I was thinking… if you aren't too busy…" she trailed off nervously, biting her lip.

Her green eyes drifted down, revealing the shock of rich purple that covered her eyelids. Her lips, painted a shade somewhere between a deep, cherry red and a light, girly pink, turned up when he smirked. Her eyes were bright, burning with excitement. "Does that mean you'll come?" her voice betrayed every bit of anxiety. When he nodded, she bobbed up and down, ecstatic.

He waited politely for her to stop.

She didn't, not all the way through the lobby, or to the subway, or even at the concert, when his hands were exploring her body, she was bouncing.

(He loved every second.)

#2 Dancing Queen: ABBA

The room was smoke filled- everything smelled of sugar- the gossamer covered chairs, the silver and purple decorations and the shimmering dancers, swaying to the sound of the piano.

She was lost in her mind, winding her body around the notes, really feeling the music, swaying along with herself. She hadn't come with a date, but she figured it wouldn't matter anyway; everybody already thought she was weird.

Her dress slid over her hips as she spun slowly, the spotlight gleaming down on her pink curls, creating a halo of bluish-blonde. Her eyes drifted closed and her hands drifted upwards as the synthesizer blasted in, cueing the sing-songy chorus, making her mouth the lyrics as the speakers blared them out, creating a sort of drug-induced effect.

Everyone was staring; she could feel their eyes probing her, judging her. She smirked as she dropped low with the music, sliding her sweaty palms up her thighs on the slow way up. _May as well give them something to look at,_ she thought spitefully.

(They _liked_ it, you know they did.;)

_#3_

_Hell's Bells: AC/DC_

They started out slow; rough, but slow.

He was a greaser. He worked on cars, busses, trucks, anything with a moter and a steering wheel. He wore leather and denim, chains and paisley; and he always had his sunglasses. He lived in the inner-city slums, and that's how he liked it. He lived how he wanted, where he wanted and by his rules only.

Until she came along.

_She_ was almost the complete opposite of him, as their friends so often pointed out; She was a cheerleader- a prep if you will, she wore mostly cotton, sometimes wool or tweed, but mostly cotton and lycra. She had cats; she drove a Prius and owned a house in the suburbs. _She_ lived by the rules- the rules in the book.

But one day her precious Prius broke down. And she was trying to pay rent and pay off her student loans on the salary of a kindergarten teacher, so she was broke. And that little shop was cheap. So, with the help of her friends, and a persistent cab driver, she showed up one day, and, well, as they say- the rest was history.

(You know _what_? HE _likes _my cardigans and pleated skirts, and _HE _thinks my mary-jane-kitten-heels are _SEXY_, _don't_ you, baby? –Sakura Haruno, direct quote)

#4 Come as you are: Nirvana

They first meet in a smoke filled room, drunk and sweaty, grinding on each other and smoking. She whisper-sings the sultry song in his ear as his hands travel to places she's never let anybody near- and she loved it. The novelty of it, the whole cliché, so she lets his strong, thin fingers explore, and she explores right back. Her hips are in between his and his arms have caged her in, and she's whispering in his ear, hot, sweet scented breath teasing his neck,

_Come, as you are_

_ As you were_

As I want you to be

And he kisses her, right there. He slides her hips around, twirling her into his clutches, encircling her in his arms, and for a second, there in a club at 2:25 in the depths of the city, she feels safe in a strangers arms.

(He's a _really_ good kisser.)

_#5_

_Free Bird: Lynyrd Skynyrd_

He drives an old car.

His car- it's old. It's bright red and it smells like cheap cigarettes, and sometimes it breaks down, and sometimes it lies about how much gas is in the tank and he has to get out and push it- but he loves old things.

She moves to his town when he is seventeen. They are instant friends- mostly because she is very friendly, and very, very stubborn. She becomes his whole world, his definition of freedom, his freebird- just blatantly his… but that's a different story.

She teaches him what it's like to go swimming at night, to jump off bridges just to test how hard you'll hit, how to properly vandalize things, how to love, how to kiss, how to be _free._ She teaches him how to be himself, something he finds he can only do around her, and he loves her like forever.

As soon as she discovers his old car, she demands that they do the cross-country road trip before they graduate, because _we just have to, that's why. _

So they're in Nevada, about twenty miles out of Vegas, where she says they'll get married, because neither of them wants a big fluffy wedding, and why not do it now, right?

And it's 5 in the afternoon, and the sun is just starting to skim the horizon, and she says that they should watch it together. So he pulls over and she sits on his lap and they smoke a little, but whatever. She is staring at the sun, and he's staring at her, and all he can think about is how similar her hair and the sky look right now. She turns to him and smiles.

He smiles back because that's one of her 'I am so happy' smiles, and they are always genuine.

She opens her mouth and says, " I want to stay here forever." And he says, "I'll make it happen," and his lips touch hers at the moment the sun sinks below the trees.

(_And so they got totally wasted and got hitched in VEGAS like a couple o' baddasses.)_

#6 Pink: Aerosmith

It's two months after he comes back that he realizes, late one night, or early one morning, that he _loves_ the color pink.

He wakes up and spends hours thinking about it, all the tones and hues and saturations and inflections and faucets of the color pink. He rolls around in his navy sheets and he thinks of nothing else but the color pink.

How it looks, (_) _how it feels, (_impossiblysoftsilkythick) _how it smells, (_like vanilla and cinnamon and coffee and metal)_ and how much he wishes that a certain head of pink were next to him.

#7 Million Dollar Man: Lana Del Rey

She thinks that he is magnificent. Brilliant, even. Every day when he strides silently past her desk, she looks up, smiles coyly and offers a subtly sensual 'hello, Mr. Uchiha'.

She knows he hears her, she knows that he must like it, because he has yet to tell her- politely- to stop. He always responds with an unreadable 'Good morning, Miss Haruno,"

no hint of any emotion or intention in his tempting deep voice, and it frustrates her to no end. Still, she persists, every morning, she does this in hopes that he might take notice of her, or call into his office for something more than a coffee or a copy.

So one morning when he's gone to his office, and she overhears one of her bitch co-workers talking to the receptionist, saying '_Oh, what does she know, she's just a stupid secretary whore. She's probably screwing him- that's the only way she'd be able to keep this job, anyway,' _She loses it. But only slightly. She stands up, feet firm under her and she sashays into his office, repeating encouragement as she goes.

When she enters, He is on the phone, arguing heatedly with someone, she assumes it's his brother; he's always quarreling with Itatchi. He turns in his chair with a firm '_Goodbye'_, and freezes at the sight of his secretary standing proudly at the door; shoulders squared, arms held tightly at her sides, a sultry smile gracing her lips.

He is briefly confused.

What could Sakura be doing here now?

He is about to ask her so, when her dainty hand drifts up to her collar, slowly undoing the buttons.

Her eyes search for a confirmation, that what she's doing won't get her fired. He nods, motivation enough.

Her other hand slides under her silk blouse, shimmying the thin material off her shoulder. It drops to her elbow, revealing the left cup of her royal purple bra. She uses her right hand to quickly pluck the thin sheaf of silk from it's place and toss it over her shoulder, leaving her in a skirt and stockings. She stalks forward, biting her lip, making him twitch.

Her hands run up her sides, gently sliding over her skin and she plops her self down on his desk, gesturing to her zipper.

He smirks, leaning forward to tug it down. She immediately stands up and bends at the waist to slide it off, granting him a front row seat to her special show. Her hand swings up to lack the door, and he blushes quietly.

She slinks over his desk, crawling like a kitten over the mahogany surface slowly, staring him down under thick lashes. Her slim legs nestle around his waist, leaving her pressed against him in every place that counts. Sakura places her hand on his chest just as he attempts to swoop in and catch her lips with his, effectively halting his actions. She tut-tuts him and for some reason, it gets him hot. She gives him a reproving look and says, in a dominating voice, "Now, are we gonna do this slow…or are we gonna do this fast?"

She only catches a small glimpse of his sexy smirk, but it's enough to let her know how it's gonna be.

(What does she know anyway, right? She's just a stupid secretary.)

_#8_

Walk this way: Aerosmith

She's wearing her hot pants today. She pulls the skimpy garment on over her favorite panties, zipping the back up tightly. She's paired the hot pink shorts with a black bra and an acid wash denim jacket that says _'home wrecker'_ on the back in rhinestones. She loves that jacket.

The sounds of the bar drift out to the dimly lit street, filtering though the throngs of people. The twenty year old is sashaying casually, a walk she has perfected over years of professional slutting. She is staring straight ahead, giving none of the peepers or whistlers the time of day, just walking along, like they don't exist and she's not super hot. She notices one in particular, though. He isn't even glancing her way, despite all the racket moving like a wave through the crowd. _Must be gay_, she thinks, but then it seems unlikely. He's glaring at his phone, seething, even. She idly wonders what he's so worked up over. When she passes him, he looks up. They hold each other's gaze for a moment, and before he can look away, she flashes him a smile and a teasing wink. He smirks, but looks down, embarrassed. She looks away, nodding to herself.

_#9_

Bulletproof weeks- Matt Nathanson

She likes to sit outside at night. She likes to watch the stars move- she says it makes her feel small; which she insists is a good thing. She lives in a place called 59th street, in a house that is painted white. Her mother has the radio playing all day long. She dances in the rain and kisses in the rain and sings in the rain and she does a lot of things in the rain.

She tells him that she likes the rain- it reminds her of her dad and the songs he used to sing her. She used to love her dad, she says. But he's gone now, she says. She says a lot of things. One of his favorites is 'I love you, you know.'

She wears a lot of striped socks. She's never said anything about those, but she implies that her favorite things are stripes. She also likes to drink her coffee with way too much cream and sugar; it makes him cough, but it makes her smile. She loves the sun, and she loves him.

_#10_

Sunday Morning- Maroon 5

They are awoken by the sound of Adam Levine's sensual drawl, the piano and the birds. The windows of his penthouse are wide open, allowing the cool Sunday morning breeze to flow in, cooling down the otherwise _steamy_ apartment. They are buried in a heap of white, sweet smelling cotton, warm from last night and each other, and still drunk off love. She struggles to sit up, the mound of down on her lap inhibiting her movement. She yawns and rubs her back, having spent most of the night before in a rather _compromising _position, it was slightly stiff. Her partner stirs lightly, but doesn't open his eyes; trying to trick himself into being asleep. She smiles off handedly, and rubs slow circles on the smooth muscle of his stomach, lost in bliss. She hits a sensitive spot, because he immediately starts laughing, and he swats her hand away, chortling. He rolls out of his bed, still laughing, he walks to his bathroom, stark naked. As she watches the birds flit around outside, a sweet smile remains.

_So I like this idea and I very enthusiastically encourage you to do it. It's pretty fun to see where the music takes you. Good inspiration too. R&R, please?_


End file.
